


How Do I Love You?

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Romance, character injury, collection, eating the eye candy, ill thought through use of restraints, references to canon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: Let Me Count The Ways....A collection of unconnected flash fictions based on requested prompts from 100 Ways to say 'I love you'.





	1. 16: I couldn't sleep anyway

**Author's Note:**

> I slipped into the background for some time due to some personal issues which are, hopefully, getting on the right track again now, but with not writing for so long I wanted to do something to ease me back into the swing of it. For that reason, I [opened prompt requests](https://atropaazraelle.tumblr.com/post/175793510460/100-ways-to-say-i-love-you%22) on my tumblr.
> 
> I'll be collecting the completed prompts here, but feel free to drop in and ask for one that takes your fancy if you like.

The oppressive heat of Lestallum was like an extra blanket in the night, one Ignis couldn’t lift, or throw off. Sweat clung, damp and uncomfortable under his arms and at the back of his neck. He’d stripped down to just his pyjama bottoms, lay on top of the bed clothes, and still he couldn’t get comfortable. The fan that blew in the room only moved the air around, sending a warm current over Ignis’s overheating skin.

He gave up trying to sleep, sitting up quietly on the edge of the bed so as not to wake anyone only to find someone was already awake. On the balcony Gladio stood, his tattooed back bowed, arms resting on the railing, and head hanging down. Ignis considered putting his glasses on, and then thought better of it.

Against all sense, the floor tiles were warm under his feet, and Ignis made his way over quietly, only pausing briefly to check on the two sleeping bodies in the other bed. Noct could have slept through the meteor fall that created the Disc, Ignis was sure of it. Prompto was almost as bad.

Gladio started, a flinch running through his entire body as Ignis placed his fingers to the back of Gladio’s shoulder, and he turned sharply to look at him. He visibly relaxed when he saw it was Ignis. “Sorry, Iggy,” he said, his voice a low hum that carried no matter how quiet he tried to be, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ignis shook his head, his hand lingering on Gladio’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he replied, his voice soft, one thought on their sleeping companions a few feet away, “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Gladio sighed, and slumped again on the balcony, looking out at the view of Lestallum. The power plant was still alive at this hour. Insomnia had always claimed to be the city that never slept, but Lestallum was the city that never stopped working, busy shoring up power to keep the lights on all over Lucis, and the daemons at bay.

“I nearly lost her,” Gladio said, and this time his voice was so quiet Ignis barely heard him.

Ignis closed his eyes, and squeezed Gladio’s shoulder with his fingers. “Yet you didn’t,” he reminded him.

“Only because of Jared,” Gladio replied. “What sort of Shield am I if I can’t even protect my sister? I’ve already lost everyone else I left behind, I don’t want to lose her too.”

Ignis felt his heart break for Gladio, but what answer could he give? He was the Shield; he had to accompany Noct, defend him, train him, protect him, and do so at the cost of his self. It was a huge burden, and an unfair one. Gladio had been born to this, he’d never asked for it, but he did his duty with pride and dedication, as his father had before.

His father, who had sent his son out to protect the Prince, and been forced to leave his daughter at home in Insomnia, even though it seemed inconceivable that he wasn’t as aware of the danger Insomnia was in as Regis himself had clearly been.

“Then let’s not leave her behind,” Ignis said, softly. Gladio looked at him as if he’d started speaking in tongues. “It’s a long way to Cape Caem, but the Regalia seats five.”

“What?” Gladio asked, dismissively, “You think travelling with us is safer?”

“Than staying in a town overrun with Niflheim forces,” Ignis replied, “yes.” He sighed, moving his hand from Gladio’s back to lean his forearms on the railing and look at Gladio. Gladio’s face was a picture of anger and misery, but there was a trace of the obstinate in the downward curve of his lips that told Ignis he was begging to be convinced Ignis was right. “If nought else, you will be able to use the time to teach her how to protect herself.”

“She already knows as much as I can teach her,” Gladio countered.

“Then let her show you that. Iris is a capable young woman, thanks to both you and your father.” Gladio’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed at the mention of their father, and Ignis looked away for a moment. “If we take her to Cape Caem she can prove to you that she is as safe as you can make her.”

The silence blossomed, heavy with the weight of Gladio’s thoughts. Eventually he said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Ignis replied, raising his hand again to settle it against the top of Gladio’s spine, and trail his fingers down. “I’m going to take a cold shower and try to get some more sleep,” he said, softly. “You should too.”

Gladio grunted, and Ignis lingered a moment longer, watching the quiet contemplation that settled across Gladio’s face before he moved away.

“Iggy?” Gladio whispered.

Ignis stopped at the end of Noct’s bed, and turned to see Gladio looking at him with an expression Ignis sorely wished he could properly see at this distance. “Yes?”

There was a pause as Gladio swallowed, and then said, simply, “Thanks.”

Ignis smiled, able to hear the dozen unspoken things contained in that simple word. “You’re welcome,” he replied.


	2. 7: I dreamt about you last night

Ignis Scientia was a man of contradictions. He acted like he didn’t have so much a stick up his ass as an entire forest, was primly turned out with his hair done and sharply arched brows even at five in the morning, even when they’d been camping in the rain, even when he’d only slept for three hours because he’d made everyone stay awake to eat and had then stayed awake to tidy up, and he was a hyper competent fighter capable of backflipping rings around their enemies. Literally.

He also cracked terrible puns that he thought were amazing, wore purple coeurl-print like no one had ever told him about the fashion police, and had a neat trick that involved tossing a dagger high into the air and then spin-kicking it at the enemy that was pure showmanship. Gladio was less impressed by the move itself than the sheer amount of practice that had to have gone into it to successfully pull a move like that off instead of impaling his own foot on his own dagger in midair.

He was also not a half bad singer, it turned out, on top of everything else. Gladio would have been asking if there was anything Iggy couldn’t do, if he hadn’t also been in the process of discovering the answer to be ‘hold his drink’.

A night in the Leville had given Iggy a night off away from the stove, and Gladio had suggested, with Noct and Prompto safely glued to a Justice Monsters Five machine and unlikely to get up to any mischief, a nightcap.

A nightcap had become two, and then three, and Gladio had needed to make sure four was their last because Iggy was getting expressive, and wistful. When he started singing along with the jukebox it was definitely time to get him to bed, and Gladio had slung an arm around his friend and walked him carefully across the road to the hotel while Ignis continued to hum the chorus to some pop song older than either of them.

“You’re not half bad, Iggy,” he said, as he checked right and left for any oncoming cars. The roads were silent, the world beyond the outposts was too dangerous to travel unless you were desperate or suicidal right now.

Ignis stopped humming long enough to answer, “Thank you.” The praise seemed to encourage him, because instead of resuming his wordless humming of the tune he sang, _“Empty dreams can only disappoint, in a room behind your smile, but don’t give up, don’t give up.”_

“Definitely bed time,” Gladio said, with a laugh, and adjusted his hold on Ignis. Iggy was warm, and pleasant under his arm, the alcohol induced wobble to his step only gave Gladio an excuse to hold him a little more firmly.

They crossed the road, and made it all the way to the hotel and their room without incident. Gladio sat Iggy down on the bed, and then bent down to take his shoes off for him.

“I dreamt about you last night,” Ignis said, his voice an unsteady whisper. Gladio looked up to see Iggy’s glasses askew, but his eyes focused, and sad.

“We see each other every day,” Gladio said, easing Iggy’s shoe off more slowly than he’d begun and placing it on the floor next to the bed. “It figures you’ll start seeing me in your sleep.”

“I suppose,” Ignis answered, and looked away.

Gladio found his throat dry as he set to work on Iggy’s other foot. His fingers slipped under Iggy’s trouser leg, finding the bare skin above the elastic of his sock as he worked the laces of his shoes open with his other hand. “What was I doing?” he asked, “In your dream?”

“Dying,” Ignis answered. Gladio looked up again to find Ignis still looking at him with that sad intensity. A hand reached out unsteadily, and gentle gloved fingers reached for Gladio’s hair. “You were dying and I couldn’t help you,” he said. “I woke up,” he added, in a strained whisper. “Do you remember?”

Gladio swallowed, his fingers gone still on Iggy’s shoe. He remembered. They could afford hotel rooms because they shared beds, and last night Ignis had woken in the early hours gasping for breath. The noise, and Iggy’s start had woken him, and Gladio had taken it for Ignis having a nightmare. He’d reached out, hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t hesitated, just reached out and pulled Ignis into his chest and told him he was safe and to go back to sleep.

“I didn’t think you would,” he admitted.

Ignis smiled down at him, his head tilted to the side and his eyes full of something Gladio didn’t let himself think about too much. “I remember,” he said.


	3. 39: Don't cry

On one night a year Insomnia’s lights went dark for one hour. At midnight, exactly at midnight, every light would shut down, the buzzing hum of electricity would die away, and the world would be left silent and bathed in starlight.

Gladio’s stomach roiled. Ignis had been absent most of the day, throwing himself into his work with a vigour that suggested he was trying to exhaust himself into an early grave. The elections were coming up soon, there was a lot of work to do, but Gladio knew Ignis wasn’t working like this because the work needed to be done. Ignis didn’t answer any of his messages, didn’t meet him for lunch, and Prompto hadn’t seen him either.

It didn’t matter. As midnight approached Gladio knew exactly where to find Ignis.

The tomb that they’d had commissioned didn’t resemble the tombs of the other Kings. It was simpler, smaller, and around the doorless entrance were carved the words _Sleep Well At Last, Our Friend_. Noct would have hated the infamy he’d garnered since the dawn he’d brought. The thought of it always amused Gladio in his maudlin moments. He’d felt like a puppet with its strings cut for the longest time after Noct’s death; without that tether to an inherited purpose he’d had to find a new one. It had been terrifying, at first, and then, as he’d found himself falling into a role he’d carved out for himself, it had been thrilling.

He was grateful to Noct for giving him that chance.

For giving Iggy that chance too.

The statue on top of the sarcophagus didn’t really look like Noct. Ignis, after feeling the marble contours of the face, had agreed, but they both agreed that it didn’t really matter. Noct had returned to them as a thirty year old man for a couple of weeks, but he would always be twenty in their hearts, and no statue could ever capture his self conscious smile, or the way his eyes lit up when he saw a fishing spot.

Traditionally, the tombs contained the preferred weapon of the monarch that resided inside, ready to be found and collected by some distant blood relation. Noct was the last of his line. There’d be no more Lucis Caelum princes and princesses touring the world to visit the family graves. It had been Prompto’s suggestion to let Noct bear his fishing rod instead of a sword, and once the suggestion had been made, Gladio and Ignis had known they couldn’t let him bear anything else.

Iggy’s ungloved fingers trailed over the fishing rod. Gladio didn’t doubt that Ignis had heard his every step up to the tomb. “Are you ready?” he asked.

He could hear the strained, heavy breath Ignis took before he asked, “Is it time?”

“Almost,” Gladio confirmed.

Ignis gave a nod, and then turned flawlessly towards him. Ignis had been forced to relearn how to navigate when the magic had died, and he’d had to rely on his stick again for a while, but Stubborn was Iggy’s middle name, and he’d borne bruised shins and grazes with dignity while he’d acclimated himself to the world once more.

He was beautiful, now. The scar across his eye and cheek had silvered with age, telling the story of his loyalty, and his sacrifice. His skin was a little darker than it had been a year ago, as was Gladio’s, the sun putting highlights on Ignis’s cheekbones and brows that only made him more stunning. He wore his hair up, in that same carefully teased pompadour he’d adopted years ago, limited supplies of hair gel be damned.

He walked towards Gladio on sure and steady feet, but Gladio still found Iggy’s elbow when he got near, following him out to the hill overlooking Insomnia.

The city was still under construction, but it blazed like a beacon in the dark, its lights polluting the sky and blotting out the stars as it once had. Rebuilding would take time, years of their lives dedicated to restoring the Crown City to its former glory, minus the Crown. Ignis hadn’t wanted to make the bid for President of the Republic of Lucis, but he’d conceded that he was the best man for the job with a lot of persuasion. Gladio intended to be right by his side every step of the way, but there was a part of him that hoped Ignis wouldn’t win the election, and that they could slink off and open a restaurant somewhere and lead a quiet life instead.

On cue the lights across Insomnia blinked out, one by one. Each light represented a life that had been saved by their King, and each now bowed its head in recognition of his sacrifice. “It’s happening,” Gladio said, quietly.

Ignis’s fingers brushed over Gladio’s, and Gladio realised he was holding Iggy’s arm tighter than he meant to. “Don’t cry,” Ignis whispered. “You promised to look for me.”

“I won’t,” Gladio said, moving his hand to take hold of Iggy’s instead and squeezing his fingers.

As Insomnia fell dark the skies revealed themselves, the moon hanging low in the sky, and the stars splashed across the night like the city’s lights had been transported there.

“It’s beautiful, Iggy.”


	4. 82: I was in the neighbourhood

Ignis had only the haziest memory of the Amicitia family home. He’d been a few times, in his youth, but had never paid the architecture much heed. Why would he, when Gladio had always been so much more enticing to look at?

Noct had brought them together as friends, and in the end the memory of Noct had kept them that way. A shared purpose had brought Ignis and Gladio into Noct’s orbit, and when he’d left, at least for a while, they’d orbited each other in his stead.

Or perhaps they’d merely orbited the black hole where Noct’s presence had once been.

It hadn’t been enough, and after a few years the long and pleasant nights in each other’s arms and the easy smiles fell away, fell to routine, fell, in the end, to apathy.

It had been Gladio that had packed his bags, although they’d both agreed to the split, and it had been pleasant, at first. Ignis had come home at night to find things exactly as he’d left them, his mug with the dregs of cold coffee from the morning still on the table, the unwashed dishes from breakfast lingering in the sink, the bed exactly as he’d left it, the shampoo and soap in the shower just where he’d left them. It had been peaceful. Ignis had been able to work until the work was done or he was tired instead of having to consider the need to give someone else any attention. There was no one to pull him away to bed, no one to tell him he’d had enough coffee.

No one to hold him at night, and, he found, no real reason to come home from work at all.

He came to miss the sound of Gladio’s snores, drowning out the click and hiss of the water in the pipes at night. It seemed to take so much longer to build up enough laundry to be worth doing. His mug seemed lonely on the coffee table when he returned home, as cold and bereft as Ignis himself felt. There was no joy in cooking when he didn’t get to hear Gladio’s appreciative hums and groans at his efforts.

He missed Gladio, missed him dearly, which was how Ignis found himself standing in front of the Amicitia manor with a bouquet of hyacinths clutched in one hand. The door opened long enough after he knocked that Ignis nearly turned and left, leaving the bouquet on the doorstep, but as he was mentally preparing himself to leave Gladio answered.

“Iggy,” he said, and Ignis felt his heart leap that Gladio still called him that. There was a pause as Gladio must have taken in the sight of him, a miserable blind man holding onto a bunch of flowers like they were his last shred of hope. “What are you doing here?”

Ignis found he didn’t have an answer. What was he doing here? Throwing the last of his dignity and pride to the wind and hoping the gods answered a prayer when they’d never paid Ignis’s wishes heed before. “I was in the neighbourhood,” he began, “and–”

Words failed him, and he heaved a sigh and steeled himself for rejection as he held the flowers out. “I shouldn’t have let you go,” he said, finally. “Will you give me another chance?”

It seemed to take an age, in which Ignis expected to hear the door slam shut against his measly offering of flowers, or to hear Gladio’s derisive snort telling him there was no way he was getting a second chance.

His breath caught as the paper wrapping around the bouquet crinkled under someone’s touch, and he felt Gladio very carefully relieve him of the blooms. “Would you like a drink?” Gladio asked.

Ignis’s heart stopped, and then kicked into double time. “Yes please,” he answered, relief flooding through him.


	5. 13: Sorry I'm late

Ignis’s birthday had not, thus far, gone to plan. Gladio was treating him to dinner at his favourite restaurant at eight, and they were supposed to be meeting up at Ignis’s apartment at six, perhaps for a glass of wine, and perhaps for a little more. He’d received the message from Gladio at ten minutes to that he was meeting him there, and at five minutes past Ignis had been able to snatch a moment to reply that he was held up, but Gladio was to make himself at home.

It was almost seven by the time he was opening the front door to his apartment. Gladio’s shoes were tucked by the door, indicating he was waiting as promised, and Ignis stashed his briefcase by the door and slipped his own shoes off.

In the lounge he saw a bottle of red wine, opened to breathe, and two empty glasses standing next to it invitingly. Perhaps if Ignis was quick enough about showering and changing, it wouldn’t go to waste. There was also a small package, wrapped in tidy white paper and topped with a red bow, sitting next to the glasses. Ignis smiled at it, finding his frustration with the day melting away at the sight. “Sorry I’m late,” he called, presuming Gladio to be in the bathroom.

“Iggy?” Gladio’s voice called from the bedroom, and Ignis looked over at the slightly ajar door. “Is that you?”

“Well you’re not exactly quick to stop the intruder if it’s not,” he replied, amusement bubbling, making his way to the bedroom door and pushing it open.

He froze.

Stretched out on the bed was Gladio. A red ribbon wound around the tops of his thighs, circling his hips and looping around his member before continuing upwards where it crossed over his stomach and chest where it was secured with a comically oversized red bow sitting between Gladio’s pectoral muscles. There was a gift tag hanging from the bow. “What in the world?” he began.

“I can’t feel my arms,” Gladio complained. Ignis looked further, to see that Gladio’s arms were secured above his head, to Ignis’s headboard, by a pair of very real metal handcuffs.

Multiple questions raced through Ignis’s mind, jostling to be the first one out of his mouth. The winner was, “How long have you been there?”

“Since about ten to six,” Gladio answered, his voice turning pleading, “please, Iggy? The key’s in the box.”

Ignis looked the sight over one more time before he turned, heading back into his lounge to retrieve the small gift wrapped box from the table. He unwrapped it on his way back to the bedroom, opening the jewellery box beneath the paper and ribbon to find a small key nestled in the cushions.

He was about to kneel on the bed and unlock the handcuffs when a thought occurred to him. “One moment,” he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“What? Iggy, just unlock me!”

Ignis gave Gladio a smirk, raising his phone and opening the camera function to take a snap. “It’s not my fault you locked yourself to something without keeping the key in reach,” Ignis pointed out. He took another snap for good measure.

“You were supposed to be here at six,” Gladio pointed out, gruffly.

Ignis replaced his phone in his pocket and sat on the edge of the bed. “I did message you that I’d be late,” he said, a little more gently.

Gladio looked up at him with a distinct sulk to his lips. “My phone’s on your desk,” he admitted. Meaning he’d left the key and any means of summoning help out of reach.

Ignis leaned forward, over Gladio, and slotted the key in the lock. With a metallic sounding snap they came free, and Gladio brought his arms down. Ignis looked down at him with a soft smile. “It would have been a very nice present,” he admitted, quietly.

Gladio rubbed at his wrists, sullenly. “It’s spoiled now,” he said.

Ignis tilted his head, letting a hint of mischief creep into his smirk. “Perhaps after dinner I’ll let you tie me up instead?”


	6. 14: Can I have this dance?

Ignis concentrated as he worked. The steady up and down as he drew the lethally sharp knife through an onion, and the hard chop sound of the blade against the cutting board was therapeutic. When he was being facetious, he’d declare that having been blinded had only supplied him with the ability to chop onions without crying. It certainly hadn’t stopped him doing anything else.

The blade brushed his knuckles as he worked, and he stopped when he came to the end, discarding that part and setting his knife down just to the right of the chopping board. He scooped up the onion slices he’d made and carefully scattered them around the bulette shank. The scent of rosemary wafted up where it was speared through the meat, along with the garlic cloves he’d carefully inserted to imbue it with extra flavour.

His kitchen was his own little world, a pleasant little sanctuary where there were no distractions. He enjoyed working there, concocting new recipes, and recreating old ones. It was a pleasant respite from the pressures of keeping Insomnia running. No one called him away from a task, here. They knew better than to interrupt.

He covered the tray and slid it into the oven to roast. “Set timer for one hour and fifteen minutes,” he said, and listened for the beep of his phone acknowledging the instruction. Then he retrieved the knife, and moved to the sink.

Arms circled around his waist. Ignis froze. A chin settled onto his shoulder. “What did I tell you about the washing up?” Gladio asked. Ignis had been too absorbed in his meal preparations to listen to what Gladio was up to, and he felt his wrist being taken gently in one warm hand, and the knife being prised from his fingers.

“I need it for the vegetables,” he defended.

Gladio gave a grumble that felt more like a purr down Ignis’s ear. “Not for another hour, right?” he asked.

“No,” Ignis admitted.

There was the metallic sound of the knife falling unheeded into the sink, and then Ignis was slowly turned in Gladio’s arms until his chest was pressed flush to Gladio’s. He could feel Gladio’s breath fluttering against his cheek. “Then stop for a while,” Gladio said. “It’s our anniversary, not mine. You’re supposed to enjoy it too.”

Ignis felt the smile slide up from his heart and settle on his lips. “I am enjoying it,” he said. “A good meal, a glass of wine, your company. They’re all I need.”

Ignis felt Gladio’s nose bump against his gently. The warmth of his breath told Ignis he’d come close enough to kiss. “Know what I want?” Gladio asked.

Ignis raised an eyebrow, and his arms, looping them over Gladio’s shoulders to clasp his wrist at the back of Gladio’s neck. “I can think of a couple of things you’re going to get, if you’re lucky,” he teased, smiling as Gladio’s forehead pressed against his.

Gladio gave an amused chuckle. “Aside from that,” he said.

Ignis lifted his forehead away from Gladio’s, tilting his chin up so that he’d be looking directly into those beautiful amber eyes, if only he could see them. He could remember them. He’d always remember them; bright and warm, and looking deep into Ignis’s soul across the campfire. “Go on,” he urged.

Gladio’s arms tightened around him, tucking him into a firm embrace. “To dance like we did on our wedding day,” Gladio replied. “You’re even more beautiful now.”

Ignis felt his stomach flip, and he drew his hand down Gladio’s shoulder, following the line of his arm until he could take Gladio’s hand. “Well then,” he said, “can I have this dance?”

Gladio’s thumb stroked the back of his hand as he brought it out to the correct position, and his forehead came to meet Ignis’s again. “Always,” Gladio answered. His arm tugged Ignis in more securely against his body, and Ignis lost himself to the feeling of being enveloped in Gladio’s presence as they began to dance.


	7. 83: Stay there. I'm coming to get you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d got overconfident. Pain bloomed up his right leg, threatening to bring him crashing to the ground with every hurried, uneven step. Each hard breath sent sharp knives between his ribs. He cradled his right arm across his chest, blessedly numb even though he could feel the elbow bent unnaturally in his hand.

He’d been hunting alone for months, now. He was good at it, too, or so he’d thought. Moving in the dark was second nature, and the true darkness hadn’t descended until recently. Wearing torches only made a hunter into a beacon to the daemons, so the safest way to hunt was in total darkness. If you could handle it.

Ignis was stubborn. He’d handled it. He’d handled it many times in the last few months against the wishes of all who knew him. Why shouldn’t he hunt? he’d asked. What advantages did sighted hunters have over him, now? He was more accustomed to the darkness than any of them.

Gladio’s protests had fallen silent at those words. Ignis almost felt guilty for being so blasé about his own circumstances when he knew it still stung those he was closest to, but his point had been made. “Let him go,” Gladio had said, his voice full of quiet pain and surrender, “he’ll get himself killed proving his point if he has to.”

But Ignis hadn’t got himself killed, nor had he the next time, or the next, or the next. Daemons were a noisy bunch, and Ignis’s ears were sharp. They smelled of brimstone and ichor, and his nose was sensitive. The footfalls of the Giants made the ground rumble, and the magic of the Bombs made them light up in Ignis’s senses.

How embarrassing, then, to have been… ha! _blindsided_ so by something as obvious as a Naga. He should have heard the tail sweeping in from his right, but he’d missed it until it hadn’t missed him, and then serpentine coils had snatched him up and _squeezed_.

He’d felt his elbow pop, where it was trapped at an awkward angle against his body. He’d felt ribs give way to the pressure with a series of dull noises, one, two, three, four, like someone snapping bubblewrap one blister at a time.

He’d tossed every grenade he held when she released him. The field had become thick with frost, and scorched with flame. The air had cracked with thunder, his hair standing on end with the charge. It had been enough to make her back off, it had been enough to give him a chance to escape.

Escape to wander in the daemon infested darkness with nothing but his daggers and polearm, neither of which he could sufficiently use. He didn’t know which way he was moving, either. Being thrown had stripped away his sense of direction; taking away that contact with the ground, turning him and stripping him of his reference points, leaving him blind in a way he hadn’t been for years.

He moved uphill. The slope was gentle, but it was enough to give him a direction. He listened for more daemons as he limped, but he followed another sense, one harder to explain. It was a gentle susurrus in his spine, a whisper across his skin, calling him.

His knee found the havenstone, looming in front of him, and Ignis stumbled around it to find an easier way on. He wasn’t up to climbing the sheer side of the rock that jutted from the ground like a blessing.

Exhaustion crept in quickly as adrenaline died. Ignis lowered himself to the stone as carefully as he could. The pain that should have been in his elbow was returning, eclipsing the pain of his leg, but doing little to let him forget about the pain of each breath. Sleep beckoned him; it would be so pleasant to just lie here, close his eyes, and surrender to it, to let his exhaustion overtake the pain.

Ignis resisted. Fishing his phone out of his left breast pocket with his left hand was tricky. but he couldn’t afford to give in to sleep. “Call Gladio,” he instructed, hoping the pressure that had cracked his ribs hadn’t rendered his phone useless.

His every breath felt ragged and laboured as he listened to his phone try to connect the call. It rang, and rang, and rang. “Loudspeaker,” Ignis commanded, lowering his arm and listening to his phone’s trill.

“Hello?” Gladio’s voice was groggy, as if he’d just woken. What time was it? That was one thing Ignis never could keep track of; he’d always woken early, and gone to bed when the demands of the day were done. Now time was just numbers; some nights he didn’t sleep at all, some days he slept until nearly afternoon.

“Gladio,” he said. His voice sounded weaker than he’d like, but breathing was agony and talking was worse.

“Iggy,” Gladio replied, sounding suddenly so much more awake. “What’s wrong, where are you?”

“I think it’s Sothmocke Haven,” Ignis replied, trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

“Stay there,” Gladio said, and Ignis would have laughed had he the breath. He wasn’t going anywhere under his own steam right now. “I’m coming to get you. You got a potion on you?” Gladio asked. Ignis could hear the rustle of material, and suddenly the sound went distant, as if he was listening to an entire room, not just to Gladio.

“It might make things worse,” Ignis said, quietly. Each breath sent a lancing pain through his chest that he’d only barely been aware of before.

Gladio’s voice came muffled, for a second, and Ignis could hear him hurrying to pull a shirt on, to pull leather trousers up, and zip and buckle them. “How bad is it?”

“Cracked ribs,” Ignis answered. “Breathing hurts but nothing’s punctured.” He’d know if anything was punctured, not that a potion would be much use if one of his ribs had pierced his lung because a potion couldn’t return bones to their original position. “My elbow is a mess,” he said, “and I think my knee was sprained.” Quietly he admitted, “I’m very tired.”

“Stay on the line with me, Iggy,” Gladio said. Ignis heard the stamp of boots being forced on as quickly as they could be. “Keep talking.”

“It hurts,” Ignis said. It hurt to talk, to breathe, to move. The stone floor of the haven felt soft and welcoming. It would be easy to slip into blissful sleep.

“Good,” Gladio answered, and his voice drew suddenly closer to the phone, “it means you ain’t dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Ignis said, listening to the sound of Gladio’s hurried, heavy breaths down the line.

“That better be the pain talking,” Gladio told him.

“You shouldn’t have to come and rescue me,” Ignis said. He shouldn’t have been out here, alone, fighting, and for what? To keep his pride? What good was pride to the dead? “I never wanted to be a burden.”

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed, “you owe me.” Ignis closed his eyes and swallowed, his throat burning. “So next time you can come rescue me.” There was the sound of heavy footsteps over a changing surface, and then the dull metalic click of a door opening. “Just because you’re blind doesn’t mean you have to be flawless to be out there,” Gladio added, his voice strong, and then it faded away to a quieter, “the rest of us aren’t. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise that.”

Ignis bit his lip. The burning in his throat intensified. “Iggy?” Gladio called down the phone, “Stay with me.”

“I’m still here,” Ignis answered. “Thank you.”

Gladio gave a grunt, and there was the sound of an engine starting up. “Tell me what you’re gonna cook me tonight,” he said. “I miss your cooking.”

Ignis smiled into the darkness, and tried to come up with a recipe.


	8. 33: Close your eyes and hold out your hands.

The World of Ruin, they were calling it. The darkness and daemons were an apocalypse, spread across the globe like a plague, blotting out the sun and driving the animals mad. The trees had shed their leaves and dried out, the bushes and plants withered away to skeletal collections of twigs, dry enough for kindling.

The ecosystem was collapsing around them. Food was becoming scarce. The Kingsglaive had been reformed and blessed by Lucian Kings of yore that Ignis, if he was entirely truthful, didn’t believe deserved the credit they were getting for finally being some actual help at last. One of the Glaive’s main duties now, among securing power and keeping transport routes safe, was shoring up food supplies.

Gladio poked life into the campfire he was building. Ignis heard the crackle of dried out wood as the flames caught, and smelled the fresh smoke of burning logs. “There,” Gladio said, happy with his work.

“It’s lit?” Ignis asked, unnecessarily. He could hear it, and smell it, and soon enough he’d feel the fire’s warmth too, but there was no harm in letting Gladio declare his victory over the ancient art of making fire.

“Yep,” Gladio answered, and Ignis felt his presence settle down on the haven’s stone next to him. Gladio’s shoulder brushed Ignis’s as he moved, looking out at the black sky and cloaked world around them both. “Should be hot enough to boil water soon. I can make you a coffee then.”

Ignis gave a sigh. “I’d kill for a cup of Ebony,” he said, wistfully. Large scale manufacturing had collapsed years ago; there was no more Ebony coffee any more, although they’d assured the world that they’d return when the sun did. The coffee they had now was a poor imitation instant, lacking the caffeine content, and the flavour, and supplies of that were starting to run low.

Gladio chuckled. Ignis’s caffeine withdrawal had been horrific, and Cor had said he’d rather fight a Behemoth King than argue with Ignis at that point. Gladio had done his best to stay out of the way. At least it had only lasted a few days. “I believe you,” he said. “We had bets on who it’d be.”

“I had a list,” Ignis answered, shooting Gladio a rueful smile that broke into a broader, warmer one as he dipped his head. “It’s awful to crave your favourite food or drink and be unable to indulge,” he added, quietly. Gladio gave a hum of agreement. “So, about supper,” Ignis said, more firmly. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“What?”

“Humour me,” Ignis said. “Are they closed?”

There was a grumble from Gladio’s direction, and then a reluctant, “Yeah.”

Ignis put his hand to Gladio’s shoulder and followed his arm down, bringing Gladio’s hand up as he went and resting his palm against the back of Gladio’s hand, holding it in place. “No peeking,” he instructed, turning Gladio’s hand palm up.

“I’m not peeking,” Gladio insisted, and there was a touch of obstinance in his tone that made Ignis smile.

He reached into the armiger, where all the ingredients they’d collected on their travels hung in their magical stasis, right where Noct had placed them, and pulled an item out. He gently placed the bottom of the cup on the centre of Gladio’s palm, and he felt Gladio’s fingers curl around it, holding it in place.

The air was heavy with Ignis’s anticipation and the sound of the fire crackling behind them. “When did you learn to do that?” Gladio breathed.

Ignis inhaled deeply before admitting, “I was more desperate than I let on when I was going through caffeine withdrawal. I wasn’t sure it was possible until I found Noct’s fishing rod, and then it was simply a matter of perserverence.”

“I thought Cup Noodles were gone,” Gladio said. Ignis heard him swallow, and the sound of his fingers brushing reverently over the foam cup and paper lid.

“The only ones left in the world are the ones in the armiger,” he said. “So, let’s get that water boiling, shall we?”

There was the sound next to him of Gladio swallowing thickly. “Thanks, Iggy.”


	9. 10: I'm sorry for your loss

The rain fell on Hammerhead like teardrops from the heavens. There was no way back inside the Crown City. Niflheim forces had blockaded the checkpoint, and the blockades seemed set to remain. The radio had reported Noct’s death, and Ignis couldn’t be sure if the Nifs believed it, or if they’d spread it in the hopes of breaking Lucian spirits. They certainly seemed intent on corralling them in Leide for an army that believed them dead.

Now that his Majesty was dead Noct was bound to take up his mantle, to visit the ancient tombs and claim the powers within. Ignis had known the day was coming, he’d always known, but the death of Regis had always seemed so far away. He remembered Noct’s tantrums, when he’d been younger, and Ignis had been younger too, and the reality of his father’s death and the duty that would pass to Noct as a result had struck Noct for the first time, and Ignis hadn’t known what to tell him. Ignis had always known, always accepted it, always pushed Noct towards a position where he’d be able to accept it.

Or so he’d thought. Now Ignis realised he’d never been prepared for the reality, only the theory. Ignis wasn’t ready, so how could Noct ever be?

The sound of Gladio dropping into the chair beside him dragged Ignis from his reverie. The news report on his phone stubbornly refused to change, no matter how long he stared at the screen, and he slid his phone face down on the table in front of him, pushing it out of the way.

A styrofoam cup settled in its place. “You look like you could use it,” Gladio said, his voice deep, and low, but quieter than Ignis had ever heard him.

He looked across. Gladio’s eyes were heavy lidded, and he stared down at the cup in his own hands, clasping it with both of them as if holding on firmly enough would reveal solutions in its depths. “Thank you,” Ignis replied.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gladio said, without looking up. “Your uncle was a good man.”

Ignis’s throat tightened and he forced himself to take a breath. “Is there any word?” he asked, haltingly. Iris had managed to get a text message to Gladio, but then there had been silence.

Gladio swallowed hard and shook his head. “They got Iris out of Leide before the blockade came down,” he said, “but it’s just her.”

Gladio’s mother, Ignis thought. He’d met her a few times, over the years. Gladio had her eyes, and Iris had her nose, and smile. There was, of course, no way that Gladio’s father would have survived when the King had not; Clarus would have fallen first and no one needed to ask to be sure of that, but Gladio’s mother… There had been hope, with Iris having escaped that she may have too.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to rest his hand on Gladio’s arm.

Gladio’s hand settled over the top of it, and squeezed gently.


	10. 41: Go back to sleep

When Gladio opens his eyes it’s to the best sight in the world. Brilliant morning sunlight is filtered to shades of gold by the curtains across the window and it pours across the room and gilds its contents in rich, buttery warmth. Ignis glows in it, sprawled across the bed and Gladio’s chest. The sheets lie indecently low on his hips, giving Gladio a tantalising peek at the faint dimples in Iggy’s back and the sweeping rise of a firm ass. Iggy’s cheek lies against Gladio’s shoulder, his face turned away, towards the sunlight. His arm winds across Gladio’s chest, and hidden beneath the sheets Gladio can feel Iggy’s leg curled around his own.

What he can’t feel is the arm Iggy is lay on. The circulation is cut off by Ignis’s weight, and Gladio can’t tell how long they’ve been lying like this.

He watches Ignis’s chest rise and fall in the slow, even breaths of deep sleep and faces a dilemma. He needs bloodflow into his arm, but he doesn’t want to disturb Iggy. It’s rare to catch Ignis sleeping, let alone peacefully.

Gladio turns to the bedside and reaches out. His fingers scrabble at his phone, but he manages to slide it close enough to pick it up without having to move his torso. With one hand he opens up the front camera and holds the phone up in the air over himself and Iggy.

He tilts his head so that Iggy’s hair is brushing his cheek before he snaps a shot, and then takes another one for good measure.

Ignis gives a soft grunt, and Gladio feels his leg move. “No, no, no,” he whispers, “shhhh, go back to sleep.”

Ignis groans, lifts his head from Gladio’s shoulder, and then settles back down. For a second Gladio thinks the impossible has happened and Ignis has actually gone back to sleep. Then Iggy’s voice, thick and slow, asks, “What time is it?”

Gladio looks at the time on his phone. “Just gone six,” he answers, softly.

Ignis gives a murmur, and then lifts his head up to rest his other cheek on Gladio’s shoulder. Gladio finds himself face to face with clouded green eyes and a starburst scar that do nothing, absolutely nothing to make Ignis any less breathtaking. “I should get up,” he says, sounding reluctantly awake. His arm drifts down to let his fingers trail over the curve of Gladio’s other shoulder.

The should was encouraging. Should was acknowledgement of things that were meant to happen that were not actually happening. Gladio utters a disagreeing rumble. “You should stay right here,” he says, abandoning his phone to the sheets to settle his hand in the middle of Iggy’s back and run his fingertips over those dimples.

Ignis sighs and closes his eyes, revelling in the warmth and comfort of the bed, and Gladio’s arms, or so Gladio hopes. Then he ruins it. “I need the bathroom.” His voice brims with regret, but it isn’t enough to slow down his movements as he rolls over, off Gladio’s arm, and slides out from under the sheets.

Gladio sighs, watching Iggy pick his way across the room, watching the stretch and bunch of toned muscle in his pert ass as he walks away. That’s when the pins and needles start, rushing down his arm like the physical equivalent of a lost television signal, bristling and painful. He sits up and gives his arm a shake; it feels boneless and rubbery.

It hasn’t improved much by the time he hears the toilet flush, and Ignis washing his hands, but at least he can move it without the help of his other arm by then. It means that when Ignis comes back to the bedroom and crawls back onto the bed Gladio can wrap both of his arms around him. He leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Iggy’s lips.

“How about breakfast?” Ignis asks, sitting on one bent knee beside Gladio, his elbow resting in the pillows, his other leg stretched out along the sheets.

“In bed?” Gladio asks, pushing his luck. “With you for dessert?”

He watches Ignis try, and fail, to resist the amused smile spreading across his lips. “If you’re very good,” he agrees.

Gladio tugs Ignis in, pulling him closer, and down, and not even meeting token resistance. “I’ll be better than good,” he promises.


	11. 38. I like your laugh

Ignis had expected to be nervous going on their first date, and at first, he had been. He’d reconsidered his shirt three times, and his trousers twice, and debated whether he should clean his shoes or whether that would look like he was trying too hard, and he still hadn’t decided on whether it was best to leave his hair artfully tousled or simply combed an hour before he was supposed to meet Gladio.

It was ridiculous, it really was. Here he stood, Ignis Scientia, _nervous_ about meeting Gladio for a movie. As if they hadn’t gone out together before. As if Gladio would care if Ignis had shined his shoes or not.

It was different this time, he told himself, as he walked to the cinema. He kept his coat buttoned, and his hands in his pockets just so he didn’t become self conscious about the way he walked and how much arms swung in the process. He knew it was different this time.

It was a simple enough date, but Gladio had seemed slightly nervous when he’d asked Ignis this morning. He’d run his hand through his hair, and fidgeted with his cap, and looked very much like he’d expected to be told no.

Ignis would have said no. He had reports to read, and compile, and briefings to collate and pass on to Noct. Gladio had put the question of a date to him over a week ago, and Ignis had agreed, but their schedules hadn’t matched up to allow for it. That morning Gladio had stopped by his office, and Ignis, spurred to throw caution to the wind and take a step into the unknown, had agreed to take the evening off.

Gladio was beaming like the sunrise as Ignis approached. Ignis was accustomed to feeling slightly overdressed when he was around Gladio because Gladio lived in tight sleeveless shirts, or workout gear, and Ignis lived in pressed pants and dress shoes. Still, it meant that neither of them looked to the other to have really dressed up for the night. Ignis might have agonised over his outfit, but he still didn’t look that much different to usual.

He wondered, dimly, if Gladio had spent the same amount of time choosing whether to wear this pair of sweatpants or that one, and how exactly to groom his beard. He always looked unfairly attractive, and standing in the foyer of the cinema with his hands in his pockets was too good a look on him.

“You made it,” Gladio said, approaching Ignis in the foyer.

“Of course,” Ignis replied, trying not feel infected by Gladio’s jubilant giddiness. He found his nerves melting away in the face of Gladio’s reaction. “Have you got the tickets?”

Gladio held up two slips in demonstration. He’d chosen an action comedy that had been out for a couple of weeks already, and Ignis trusted Gladio’s taste even if the genre wouldn’t be his first choice. Since Gladio had bought the tickets Ignis made him put his wallet away at the concession stand and bought the large popcorn and two sodas. The massive bucket of popcorn didn’t look quite so oversized in Gladio’s hands, and he was already cramming a small handful of kernels into his mouth before they found their seats.

The theatre was occupied by a few small groups scattered around the auditorium. Ignis and Gladio opted for a pair of seats near the back and got comfortable. Gladio held the popcorn in his lap and whiled away the pre-feature adverts happily telling Ignis about the reviews he’d seen in a low voice that required Ignis to lean in to hear him clearly.

By the time the movie began, Ignis had forgotten all about his nervousness.

When the lights came up again it felt as though three years had passed. Gladio stretched beside him, and Ignis flexed his joints, feeling as though he’d been sat still for days. His sense of the passage of time had been obliterated, and his watch declared that it was still early in defiance of his expectations.

“Can I walk you home?” Gladio asked.

Ignis felt butterflies taking wing in his stomach. They’d walked home together so many times before, but this was different. This time meant something other than friendship. The idea of it made Ignis’s skin prickle and his chest tighten. “I’d like that,” he answered, because it sounded better in his head than ‘yes, please’.

Despite the early hour it was dark outside when they left the cinema, and the air had taken on a nip that smelled of the incoming winter. Ignis wrapped his coat tighter around himself, and Gladio slid his hands into his hoodie pockets. The street lights were lit, and his Majesty’s Wall shimmered in the sky overhead.

“Can you imagine Cor’s face if anyone in the Crownsguard actually had a car chase around the cityl?”

Ignis grinned into his chest as they started to walk. “I don’t know whose face I’d fear more,” he said, “his, or your father’s.”

Gladio groaned in exaggerated horror. “Don’t,” he complained. “My dad would have them tied to the car next time.”

“There’d be a next time?” Ignis asked, his smile bright as he looked up at Gladio.

Gladio grunted, acknowledging the flaw in the assertion. “All right,” he said, “my dad would have them tied to the car while Noct has a driving lesson in it,” he declared, returning Ignis’s bright smile.

Ignis raised both eyebrows behind his glasses. “Your father’s never struck me as capable of that level of cruelty before,” he replied. It had the desired effect, because Gladio laughed and nudged Ignis’s arm with his elbow.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and settling his arm across Ignis’s shoulders to tug him back towards him once more, “don’t underestimate his inventiveness.”

Ignis felt the shock of Gladio’s easy contact run down his spine, and he let himself be drawn in until he was all but huddled against him as they walked. Gladio’s arm was as hot as a furnace across his shoulders, and his body radiated heat at Ignis’s side.

“Angel reminded me of you,” Gladio added, changing the subject slightly to discuss the film’s primary protagonist.

Ignis thought back to the character. He’d been quick-witted, but had got nowhere until he’d given up trying to follow the rules. At which point car chases around the city and explosions had been his fallback tactics. “Snarky and surrounded by idiots?” Ignis asked, seeking clarification.

Gladio’s arm tightened around his shoulder again. “Buried in paperwork and needing to cut loose,” he answered, without looking at Ignis.

Ignis regarded Gladio’s profile for a moment. He supposed he couldn’t dispute Gladio’s summation, either of the character of Angel, or himself. “I suppose that makes you Cannon, then,” he answered.

“A bumbling sidekick?” Gladio asked, turning to cast a frown at Ignis, although his arm didn’t shift.

Ignis hesitated, nipping the inside of his lip with his teeth before he ventured forth with his reasoning: “The only person he wants beside him when there’s trouble.”

Gladio’s expression softened, and Ignis wondered, for a heartbeat, if Gladio was about to lean down and kiss him. The realisation that he wanted him to weighed heavy in Ignis’s stomach among all the popcorn. “Through thick and thin, Iggy,” Gladio answered, paraphrasing one of Cannon’s lines from the movie.

Ignis glanced away, not able to look Gladio in the eyes for longer. It felt as if the world was slowing to a standstill the more he let himself be trapped in Gladios vibrant amber eyes. The lights of downtown Insomnia danced in them, and they weaved slowly through the crowds of people on their way home.

The air was thick with the scent of hotdog stands, and restaurants, but it was the familiar sounds of electronic buzzes and trills that captured Ignis’s attention. They were passing the arcade that Noct frequented, and Ignis slowed as he looked in.

Gladio slowed as Ignis did, and looked to where Ignis’s attention was turned. “He’d better not be in there,” Gladio began, displeasure creeping into his tone.

“No,” Ignis said, shaking his head, “I made sure he was at home before I came out,” he added. An idea was tickling the back of Ignis’s mind. It was silly, showing off, even, but the night was still young and he didn’t want it to end yet. “What would you say to a game?” he asked, turning back to Gladio.

Gladio looked at him, and then looked at the open doors of the arcade. Avid gamers were inside, dropping coins into slots and tapping away at buttons or shooting plastic guns at imaginary enemies. “Okay,” he said, a devilish grin forming, “but what do I get if I beat you?”

“My unending respect,” Ignis answered, “not that you will.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Gladio answered.

Ignis led the way inside. He’d been before, with Noct, and his friend Prompto, and at first he hadn’t done very well. Once you learned the enemy attack patterns, however, and the combination of button presses required to activate particular moves, and recognised the signals for when to attack and when to evade the games all became rather easy.

Noctis had gone from impressed to vowing never to bring Ignis again. The leaderboard on one of Noct’s favourite games bore his name proudly in first place between screens of synthesised gameplay. Gladio spotted it too. “Should we see what’s more important than homework?” he asked.

Ignis fished a coin out of his wallet and took the second gun from the holster. “Capital idea,” he declared, letting the coin drop into the slot. Gladio retrieved his gun as well, grinning broadly as he fixed his attention on the screen.

The game was a simple enough shooter. Enemies appeared from around corners or behind objects, and each screen had to be cleared before the game progressed on to the next batch of enemies, and potential points. Gladio took the early lead, his quick reactions serving him well as he pointed and fired at every moving object.

By the third screen Ignis was pulling level with him, picking off the enemies in the distance and the ones that appeared and disappeared behind their cover spots. The game moved attentions from one quadrant of the screen to another, forcing the player to flick their attention back and forth, but there was a pattern to where the developers had chosen to put each subsequent enemy. 

Gladio automatically fell into the role of providing cover while Ignis worked on the more long range enemies. They didn’t have to discuss their roles; it simply came to them both. The enemy frequency and strength increased as the levels did, and Ignis felt a pang as Gladio’s character fell to the onslaught.

His own fell a minute later, unable to keep up with the intensity of the combat on his own and reduced to frantically shooting at hordes of approaching monsters.

“You’re good!” Gladio told him, slinging his arm around Ignis once more.

“I’ve played it before,” Ignis admitted, before clarifying, “once, anyway. I knocked his highness off the top spot, and he hasn’t let me play against him since.”

Gladio broke into deep laughter. On the screen their scores were tallied, showing that Ignis had won, though not by the hugest of margins. It was not, however, enough to knock Noctis off the top slot. “Wait here,” he said, turning and leaving Ignis at the console. Ignis watched him fish his wallet out of his pocket and line up at the counter.

He returned a couple of minutes later with a wide grin, jangling a stack of coins in his palm. “Ready?” Gladio asked, taking up his position again.

Ignis looked at him, and felt the urge towards mischief bubble up inside him as it only ever did when he was around Gladio. Noctis made him feel like a parent, but Gladio made Ignis feel like the seventeen year old he so rarely got to be.

He picked up the gun again. “Ready,” he confirmed.

Gladio slotted the coin into the machine.

It took another three games before they finally beat Noct’s score instead of merely coming close. Gladio punched the air and then dragged Ignis in to a hug with one arm as the leaderboard spots opened up, and shoved Noct’s name down the board. “Nice work!” he congratulated.

“You too,” Ignis pointed out, indicating the same sequence coming up on Gladio’s screen. Gladio grinned, and started using the gun to aim at letters and type out his name.

Except it wasn’t his name he typed. Ignis watched as “Eaturvegetables” took the slot just ahead of “Noct”. He snorted with laughter, and then quickly covered his mouth with his hand, feeling the instant mortification at the noise settling in. “Excuse me,” he muttered.

Gladio looked at him as if Ignis had just made his day. “Hey,” he said, admonishing Ignis and reaching out to peel his hand away from his mouth and reveal his burning cheeks, “I like your laugh.”

Ignis felt the words land like a blow in his chest, stealing his breath. It did nothing for the heat in his face, but he allowed Gladio to tug his hand away from his mouth, his fingertips grazing over Ignis’s palm as he brought Ignis’s down to his side and then held it there.

Ignis swallowed the emotions that tried to come to the surface and turned his attention to his own screen. He picked his gun back up with his free hand, and focused on the screen, typing out his own player name to sit above Gladio’s. Gladio gave a throaty laugh as “Cleanyourroom” settled into place above “Eaturvegetables”.

Ignis gave in, and let himself laugh again, his shoulders shaking as he turned back towards Gladio. Gladio’s fingers curled that bit tighter around his hand, his thumb stroking along the edge of Ignis’s palm. “He won’t forgive us for that, you realise?” Ignis asked.

“Perfect,” Gladio answered, his smile drawn across his lips, showing perfect white teeth and crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. “Let’s do it to every game he plays in here.”

It took over an hour, and two more trips to the counter to make change, but by the time Ignis and Gladio had left the arcade, nearly every machine was instructing passing players to eat their vegetables, take out their trash, do their homework, and make their beds.

The thought of Noct’s reaction when he saw it kept Ignis in high spirits despite the increasingly cold evening, and he walked side by side with Gladio through downtown Insomnia and towards Ignis’s apartment block. Gladio kept his hands tucked in his pockets against the chill, and Ignis found himself wishing that Gladio’s arm was wrapped around him instead.

Gladio removed his hands from his pockets as Ignis opened the door to his apartment block and let Gladio inside. It was warmer in here than it was on the street, and Ignis relaxed, no longer holding his coat tightly around himself. “You must be freezing,” Ignis said, turning with one foot on the stairway that led upwards to his floor. Gladio was wearing a hoodie, and the soft cotton probably didn’t provide much of a barrier from the weather.

Gladio shrugged his shoulders and gave Ignis a grin. “I can tough it out,” he answered. The look in his eyes was soft, and fixed on Ignis’s face.

Ignis felt the nerves from earlier make a resurgence. This had been a date, but they’d done nothing different than if they’d merely planned an evening together as friends. Or had they? Would either of them have said the things they had if they’d been out together as mere friends?

“I had fun tonight,” he said, searching for something to fill the silence that threatened to crash over them both and make things awkward.

“Yeah?” Gladio asked, taking a step closer. He seemed genuinely pleased, his teeth flashing in his smile. His hand settled on the rail by Ignis’s side. “Me too,” he said. He bowed his head, looking down at Ignis’s shoes for a moment, and it occurred to Ignis that Gladio might be just as nervous as he was right now. Yet Gladio wore it so much better. Ignis could feel his own heart beginning to jackhammer in his chest. “How about dinner next week?” he asked, looking up from Ignis’s shoes and into his eyes.

Ignis felt his breath freeze in his throat. Dinner was a more intimate sort of date than a movie, and something they hadn’t done before as friends. He fought against his mingled nerves and excitement to give a reply. “Can I pick the restaurant?” he asked.

Gladio laughed. His eyes sparkled. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll trust you.”

Ignis’s heart did a cartwheel in his chest. It was Gladio; he hadn’t feared rejection, but he’d still wondered if Gladio would find him too boring to continue to pursue. “Do you want to come up?” he asked, feeling every tiny hair on his body stand on end at the prospect even as the words left his lips.

Ignis saw Gladio’s throat move, his Adam’s apple rising and falling as he swallowed. “I wanna,” he said, his voice growing softer than Ignis had ever heard it, “but I’m not gonna.”

Ignis felt his heart and stomach sink. “Oh,” he said, questions pouring into his mind at such speed that they got jammed in the proverbial doorway and left Ignis with only fragments of them in his mental grasp.

They were silenced entirely when Gladio’s hand closed around his and Gladio shifted to look Ignis directly in the eyes. “There’ll be plenty of time for that.”

Gladio’s fingers curled more tightly around Ignis’s hand, and Ignis twitched in surprise as cold fingers brushed against his cheek. Suddenly Gladio was a lot closer than he had been, and Ignis felt himself frozen as warm, soft lips brushed against his own, and then drew back.

Ignis blinked, looking into Gladio’s eyes again, which seemed to take up the whole world in that instant. The ghost of Gladio’s lips lingered against his own.

_Close your eyes_ , Ignis remembered. He followed the instruction, and then leaned forward.

Gladio’s mouth met him halfway, and this time it wasn’t a fleeting brush of lips that disappeared before it could become more. Ignis gasped against Gladio’s mouth, and felt a cold, rough thumb brush against the side of his jaw as fingers settled in his hair. Gladio’s lips were warm, and Ignis could smell the faint odour of his breath. He parted his lips, easing his tongue out tentatively. Gladio gave a low murmur of approval, and then met Ignis’s tongue with his own. It was strange to taste Gladio’s mouth, to feel the wet muscle of his tongue sliding over Ignis’s own, but it sent a thrill through Ignis’s chest and down his spine.

He brought his empty hand up, finding Gladio’s waist and settling it there, marvelling at the warmth and firmness of Gladio’s body. Ignis didn’t realise he was making a needy little noise into the kiss until Gladio pulled away, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes as Ignis opened his own, and then returned to ravishing Ignis’s mouth.

Ignis closed his eyes again. Nothing in the world but Gladio existed for him, and he wanted to stay this way. Their hands parted, and Ignis was tugged in more tightly as Gladio’s arm locked around his back instead. Ignis felt lost in the sensation of Gladio’s tongue against his own and draped his arm over Gladio’s shoulder, his fingers grasping at the material of Gladio’s hoodie.

His body felt like it was burning when Gladio pulled back again, and this time remained out of reach of Ignis’s lips even though he held Ignis as close as he had. “I should go,” he said, quietly.

Ignis didn’t want him to. He wanted to stay right here and get lost in Gladio’s mouth and arms for the rest of the night. Parts of his body screamed for more than that. He wondered if Gladio’s did too. “Until next week?” he asked, reluctantly loosening his hold on Gladio.

Gladio nodded at him. “You’ll make time for me, right?” he asked, sliding back out of Ignis’s hold with almost as much reluctance.

Ignis nodded back, a little more fervently. He was going to make very sure he made time for Gladio next week, even if it meant putting some things on hold. “Message me when you get home?” he asked, as he finally released Gladio and watched Gladio take a step back towards the door.

“Like I could stop myself,” Gladio answered, his hand falling to the door. “Goodnight,” he said, sharing one final little smile with Ignis.

“Goodnight,” Ignis replied, and remained on the bottom step as he watched Gladio go. He could still feel Gladio in his arms and against his mouth, and he pressed his fingers to his lips. Had it been as good for Gladio? Was he walking home with Ignis lingering in his senses?

Ignis turned, giving a quiet, breathy whistle as he gathered himself and made his way up to his apartment. He removed his shoes and coat, slotting them into their places in a daze, and then went into his kitchen to make himself a coffee.

His phone buzzed and trilled in his pocket. Ignis drew it out to see the message was from Gladio.

“You’re amazing x”, it read.

Ignis read it twice, his heart taking flight at the words. “You’re not so bad yourself”, Ignis replied, leaning against the counter while his coffee brewed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find references to this fic in [I Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805248).


End file.
